


Oi, Love

by Goodchampagneandprivateplanes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hair, Haircuts, Husbands, Insecure Harry, Louis Flirts, Louis is a Tease, M/M, Top Louis, aw poor bb, comfort Louis, harry and louis are totally married and in love, harry got a haircut, harry is lost without his curls, larry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 22:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6926176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goodchampagneandprivateplanes/pseuds/Goodchampagneandprivateplanes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did he regret it? Not yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oi, Love

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Oi, Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7237300) by [Hazzaczuwa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazzaczuwa/pseuds/Hazzaczuwa)



Whenever Harry got in one of his moods, he always did something drastic. One time, he decided to get a tattoo — his _first_ tattoo. Another time, he decided to buy a motorcycle. Another? He went skydiving. This time? He actually maybe regretted what he did this time just a _tiny_ bit. 

He got into his moods for a wide array of reasons. The littlest things could trigger him: if Louis didn’t switch over the laundry when he said he would, or if he forgot milk at the grocery story; if Liam threw his sweatshirt on the couch, or if he got angry at him; if Niall knocked the wrong way, or if he got a bit too drunk. He was good lately at controlling himself, but today was different. 

Louis came home drunk, which isn’t abnormal, per se, for him. He has been quite the party goer lately. But was abnormal was the fact that it was only 9pm and Harry hadn’t seen him all morning and left him worrying where he was. Sure, Louis had his own life, his own car, and his own plans, but he usually always told Harry where he was going. And, this time, he didn’t. 

So what did Harry decide to do? To not tell Louis what he was doing. But, Louis always seemed to know, regardless of what Harry thought. Louis was able to just _know_. This time, he was a bit too inebriated to know what was going on. However, he did know that Harry slammed the door, and he didn’t quite like the way it sounded. 

He didn’t exactly know where he wanted to go. It was 9pm; not many shops were open, minus the shops for _you know what_ and he had no plans to go there. Instead, once he reached the sidewalk, he decided to go for a run. Maybe running would help. 

It didn’t. 

He walked back into the house and closed the door, a bit too abrupt than what he planned. Louis barely stirred on the couch. He was definitely asleep, one hand down his pants, and his other hand holding a remote pointed toward the television. He had popcorn — burnt popcorn — all over the floor with a bowl half tipped over at the end of the couch. Harry shook his head. Normally, he would clean up after Louis and succumb to the need to be tidy. Tonight was different. Running didn’t help. 

He made his way to the upstairs bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He tied his long curls into a ponytail and looked in the mirror for quite a bit. He turned his head, admiring how the curls accentuated his cheekbones and how some of the lighting made his jawline look _just_ right. But, he needed to do something. Something other than love his hair. 

_Snip._

And just like that, Harry was no longer admiring his hair in the mirror, but rather admiring it in his hand. Yep. He just did that. 

His hands trembled once he realized the permanency of what he did. Did he regret it? Not yet. He chucked the ponytail of hair into the trash, not wanting to feel the sting of it in his hand any longer. 

Sure, it didn’t look _awful_ , but it was different, for sure. He leaned over the bathtub, so his hair was over the tub, and shook out the loose strands and stray hairs. Yep. He just did that. 

He ran his fingers through his hair one last time before he held his breath and looked in the mirror. He peeled his eyes open to look at the damage he had caused and stared at his reflection, almost not connecting that it was truly his. He ran his fingers through his hair, watching his reflection mirror his exact motions, and felt a little less at home when his fingers left his locks much too soon. 

Did he regret it? Yep. 

He sighed and stripped down to nothing and got into the shower. He wasn’t quite sure why a shower would help at this point, but he found himself there regardless. And, yes, he did squeeze out far too much shampoo for his short — and uneven — cut. And, yes, he did get a bit more anxious every time his hand didn’t move further down his nape where his hair was about 15 minutes before. 

And Louis wasn’t even awake. 

Once changed and out of the shower, he tried to tie his hair up in the towel like he used to, and quickly realized that it just wouldn’t work the same. Instead, he resorted to a quick blow dry of it. He refused to look in the mirror that night and went to bed, in his bed, with a hoodie on. 

 

He awoke, his face glistening with sweat. It was summer and he definitely did not need to be sleeping with a hoodie on. He was just happy his hoodie was still up and Louis was not next to him — or on top of him, for that matter. However, he knew Louis wasn’t far once he heard the retching in the bathroom just a few doors down. 

“Good morning to you, too,” Harry called down the hall, as he got out of bed and stood in the door frame. Only a few seconds later, he was met with a middle finger, quickly followed by two middle fingers. He always teased Louis whenever he got madly hungover to the point of vomiting. It doesn’t happen much, but Harry never let the opportunity pass. 

“You’re such a lightweight. What’d you do? Have three shots?” Harry smirked to himself as he made the comment. 

This time, he was met with a flash of a middle finger before he heard the flush of the toilet and the sink running. 

“You’re such a fucker,” Louis moaned, running his fingers through his hair as he came out of the bathroom and laid, pathetically, on their bed. 

Harry wished he could be like Louis. Carefree. Able to run his fingers through his hair without worrying about it or missing his curls. Maybe Louis would miss his curls. Damn, at least with his previous fits, he would just do something stupid that wasn’t _this_. 

“What’s up with the hoodie, mate? You’re going to dehydrate,” Louis commented, spreading his arms across the bed, stretching out his torso.

“Says the one who just lost everything he just had,” Harry replied back, a harsher than he expected. Louis’ only response was a raise of his eyebrows and a pout growing across his face. “I’ll go make breakfast.” 

And with that, Harry left the room and went straight downstairs. He peeled his sweatshirt, which was covered in sweat, off of his body and threw on a tee shirt that he found in the laundry bin. He was also relieved to see one of Louis’ beanies hanging over a chair. He threw that on his head, covering his new haircut, and adjusted it in the reflection on the microwave. 

Harry never really cooked much, so he wasn’t quite sure what to make for breakfast, other than eggs and toast. So, it was eggs and toast that he made before he called his husband down to have breakfast with him. 

Louis emerged but a minute later and Harry placed the plates down on the table, opposite of each other, along with a cup of tea and a glass of water. Louis nodded to him as a thank you and took his seat at the table. 

Breakfast was awkward at first — awkward in the sense that it was just brutally quiet and tense. Louis knew something was up with Harry. Harry knew Louis knew. Neither wanted to bring it up, but Louis was deathly curious. He just wasn’t sure how to start the conversation. He never did. So, he didn’t. 

They finished their breakfast in awkward silence. Harry was grateful that Louis said nothing. Louis was also a bit thankful that Harry didn’t go on about anything, because, quite frankly, the throbbing in his head would’ve taken over anything that was being said. 

Harry was the first to ascend the stairs. Louis stayed behind downstairs and did the dishes and put away the mess that Harry made. It was odd for Harry to not clean up after himself, but Louis simply put it down to his bad mood. 

Louis went up to their bedroom and crawled up behind Harry. He rested his chin on Harry’s shoulder. He knew Harry didn’t like being questioned, so he didn’t question. 

He rested there quietly, watching Harry’s chest rise and fall with each breath he took. 

“I fucked up, Lou.” 

“Why do you think that?” 

“I just did.” 

Louis sat up and pulled Harry up with him and positioned himself so he was facing Harry. 

“You do realize I would love you no matter what you did, right?” 

“I know. Unless I fuck your sister.” 

“Or me mum.” 

Harry just nodded in response. They had talked about it before. Louis had hoped it would bring a smile to his face like it had in the past, but it didn’t this time. Harry played with the hair tie on his wrist without even noticing. He still hadn’t taken it off. The yellow band was stretched out and really needed to be switched out, but now there was no use for it, and Harry simply liked the comfort of having the option of putting his hair up — even though it didn’t matter any more. 

There were a lot of things he already missed about his long hair. He missed Louis’ fingers twirling around his hair at night when they’re pressed up against each other, Louis’ head in the crook of Harry’s neck. Fuck. That wasn’t happening again for a while. Harry simply shook his head and looked down. 

“I miss it.” 

“Miss what, babe?” Louis said, questioningly, cautiously. 

Harry shook his head again. He didn’t want Louis to see. He didn’t want to see. He didn’t want anyone to see his fuck up he had during a fucking fit. He was too old for fits, he determined to himself. This wasn’t happening again. 

Louis took his hands in his and rubbed his thumb over his knuckles in an attempt to soothe him. Despite knowing Harry for so long, he still wasn't sure what to do with him when he was upset. Hell, Louis wasn’t even sure if he was upset. He seemed to be more anxious than anything right now. 

Suddenly, it clicked for Louis. The hoodie. The beanie. The silence. The hair that he saw in the bathtub this morning - although he couldn’t identify what part of the body it came from at that time. It all made sense now. 

Louis smiled sympathetically at Harry. Harry caught a glimpse in his eye and forced a smile back. Harry wasn’t expecting what Louis did next. 

Louis reached over and slid the beanie off of his head. Under the beanie was Harry’s cut — and slightly messy — hair, that was much shorter than it was yesterday. Of course, Louis didn’t mind. But, Harry did mind, so, by default, Louis had to mind to some degree since it upset him so much. 

Harry looked at Louis’ face for a response — any response at all. He was surprised when the corners of Louis’ lips turned up, and it wasn’t in a teasing way. Louis was simply loving the shortness of his hair. It almost looked like his. God — the things he could teach Harry to do with his hair. The quiff, the bangs, the clips, the straightening, everything. He couldn’t wait. 

 

“Lou — I’m s—“ Harry started. Louis’ lips quickly met his, forcing Harry’s words back down before they made an appearance to the world. 

“Don’t talk,” Louis mumbled against his lips. He pulled away from Harry’s form and made his way to the bathroom. He came back a few minutes later with a round brush, a comb, hairspray, and gel. 

“Sit on the edge of the bed. Come on, lad,” Louis said, huffing as he grabbed Harry’s legs and forced him to the edge of the bed. He made Harry cover his eyes and he worked his magic. Well, maybe not magic, but rather just his practice. 

Twenty minutes of brushing, teasing, snipping, spraying, and “ow”s murmuring out of Harry, Louis let Harry uncover his eyes. He was abruptly greeted with his own reflection in a mirror. He had to say he was surprised. He never did know his husband to be quite the hairdresser, but looking back, he could tell that Louis definitely had some experience. Hell, he had a different hair style every week. He knew what he was doing. 

Louis nodded approvingly at his work and fluffed his husband’s hair playfully. 

“And I bet you thought I’d hate it, eh?” Louis said, only half sarcastically. 

“I miss the curls,” Harry said solemnly. 

“Oi, love. You’ll get them back. Love your hair. You cut it off. It’s gone. At least you didn’t go and give yourself a nice fringe or some shit that I couldn’t work with,” Louis replied, winking toward his lover at the end. 

Yep. Harry knew he chose the right one. But, damn, he wished he didn’t cut off _that_ much of his hair. 

“You know, I can still grab your hair when I fuck you,” Louis whispered into his ear, his breath hot on the base of Harry’s ear. He was met with Harry leaning against him. 

Alright, well, as long as Louis could still do that. Maybe it wasn’t _so_ bad, after all. He’ll be able to tell before the night was over, at this rate, but by the way Louis smirked and looked at him, maybe he would know even sooner than that. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to post 100 fics in 100 days, which I started on May 10. Feel free to send requests / comment requests. I'll try to do every comment.


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